


Pure Morning

by verucasalt123



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Control, Ficlet, Friendship, Gen, Healing, Hope, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 11:10:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1776967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verucasalt123/pseuds/verucasalt123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He runs because he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pure Morning

This is the way he greets every day, now. The only thing that propels him out of the bed, out of his house, is the need to sweat and move and accelerate his heartbeat. Stiles slips quietly into his trainers, puts his best effort into not waking anyone who might be sleeping in his bedroom at any given time (when Derek’s not there, it’s Scott, or Lydia, some days Isaac – they don’t like leaving him alone at night just yet) and makes his way to the edge of the preserve. 

It’s still dark, and Stiles can see his breath as he switches on his music. It’s loud, always, so he can’t hear the crunching of leaves and twigs beneath him. He can only _feel_ ; his feet pounding the forest floor, the burn in his chest as his breathing speeds up, the strain of the muscles in his legs. When he started, it had been so much harder, his body still weak and frail, but now he could go for an hour easily, just running through the trees. He might go longer if he thought he wouldn’t worry his friends but they put so much effort into making sure he is safe that he always manages to get home before anyone starts wondering whether or not he’ll come back on his own. 

Running is perfection. He shakes off the remnants of nightmares, sweats out anxiety and confusion and anger and sadness. Stiles thinks it’s because he’s not running _from_ anything, he’s not running for his life on pure adrenaline, and he’s not running _to_ anything, either. He’s just moving his body, completely under his own control, now that he has the ability to do so once more. He’s not even thinking, really; he’s on auto-pilot, the chilly pre-dawn air reddening his cheeks and making his eyes water. 

He completes his circuit, comes back out of the trees at the same place where he entered, Brian Malko in his earbuds reminding him about the pure morning as the sun starts to peek over the horizon. He thinks very soon, he might smile and mean it.


End file.
